The following posts for the archives are part of the site consolidation for simplicity, they come from Recycled Franciscan that was at yycfranciscan.wordpress.com (now deleted). Enjoy as these were part of the family daliance with Roman Catholicism before my Mum’s passing.

A the uniqueness of social media, in which former co-workers and friends can find you, when at other times of human history the connection would be lost. Through Facebook messages Lisa Lopez Smith who I served with years ago on Street Level at the Mustard Seed contacted me about her new book.

Here are my simple thoughts on this good resource for personal and group reflection, that comes with reflective statements and a simple resource guide:

Lisa Lopez Smith writes as she served the homeless of Calgary, with passion, integrity, curiosity and authenticity. I had the privilege to work alongside her on the streets and witness these traits as she was called in that time to live Christ for others, her keyboard know brings her journey it would seem into the stories of Christ that inspire.

Lopez Smith lays open a true depth of spiritual understanding of the stories within the Gospels. She raises discussion, debate, storytelling, open interpretation…mysticism if you will mixed with rabbinical flare. These ancient stories of Jesus rediscovered for today’s western “enlightened” mind, but Lopez Smith’s work reawakens a truly enlightened approach to well heard, if not well known stories. I have been pondering recently who would be picking up the torch for a new generation of progressive/community/justice orientated Christian writers, and this is one of those new lights.

That’s right the 2nd Annual Playhouse Community Tour officially kicked into high gear today at Tilley, AB…watch your local parades and fair grounds for the cabinsales.ca converted play house/piggy bank for donations and a chance to WIN!!!

Here is last year’s recap for the Alberta Children’s Hospital Foundation: Playin4keeps2013

“Well what do you expect of our world since we took God out of the classroom”, or some variation, is becoming a Christian refrain to remove oneself from the world around them, and true horrors that media is reporting. It has become the 21st century equivalent of the shrug. Whether it is incessant online bullying leading to suicides; gang rapes; child pornography or sports coaches/teachers abusing those in their charge (note how Church Inc. Turns a blind eye in these statements to their participation in Indigenous persons genocide; and the ongoing rapes/abuses of charges by clerics as we know these roles of power are sought by the monsters, but I digress).

Statistically our world is less violent per capita than at any other point in recorded human history; per capita there are no more sexual predators about than there was in the early to mid-twentieth century. What has changed? Something that God has been trying to get through to us since the stories of the Hebrew Bible were actual current events.

The opening refrain feeds our reading of the Hebrew Bible and Christian New Testament, when we look at scriptures of horror like David & Bathsheba as a story of weekend sexual moral, and adultery…instead of the story of power; rape and murder that it truly is. Then we try to clean it up more, by pointing to the repentance of David after confronted by Nathaniel and stipulating, see a contrite heart makes him one after God’s own heart. BUT this is not the point of the tale, for I reflect the point was lost on ancient Israel and us today. How do I know? Simple, in the post-exile sanitized versions of the histories (1&2 Samuel, 1& 2 Kings) known as 1 & 2 Chronicles these things do not appear. For they are not of God’s heart!!!

In fact, I am emboldened to say that the message behind this horror story is what truly happens when a V-I-C-T-I-M loses their voice to tell their story. Bathsheba fades into the background; vanishes if you will. It is recorded that the child created by the rape died; some scholars and writers postulate in a fit of insanity David commits infanticide to clean up the last reminder of his unkingly acts; some may think that Bathsheba did to remove the reminder; but she enters into the household of the king as yet another conquest, left silent to whatever whim David wants, for within the time she is nothing more now than damaged property. The union produces Solomon, who obviously understood the atrocities visited upon his mother, the cover ups of the king wrapping it in a very fundamentalist understanding of YHWH and leveraging spiritual and temporal authority to keep it all quiet. How do I know this? Simple, reflect on Solomon’s reign he sought many other roads to the Holy Mystery and only a part of it was the Temple he built for God, there was also other imaginings and reflections, Solomon was not comfortable with his father’s understanding or use of God and was trying to shake the bondage off.

This Hebrew Bible narrative shows us what happens when the victim is stripped of justice and voice, where the assailant is stripped of ability to be properly healed and held accountable.

This is where our world is at, we as a society are no longer David and his court with heads in the sand protecting the abused. We may not fully have proper justice, and healing for all parties involved, but be thankful to media forums (social, traditional, and grapevine if you will) that the victim’s voice is finding ground, and we are moving beyond the blame the victim mentality. Are we as a world there yet? NO! Why? Simple, old school religious understandings like the naive understanding of the David and Bathsheba story as adultery with equal partners strips the horror story of its power to address true societal justice issues, strips it of the power for the hearer and reader to ask, what if David was held accountable and Bathsheba was allowed to tell her tale? Would things be different?

What if in our world today we finally moved beyond the Patriarchal oppression that protects abusers, or downplays the trauma throughout generations their actions create, and actually move to a holistic approach of justice. One that restores the victim to full being and empowered but also does the same to the abuser to shatter the cycle and heal our world.

We like to say our world is horrible because we removed God from public piety, yet it was never public piety God wanted, Jesus warned us not to be like the show, but rather to let the Holy Spark shape our inner most beings so that our world be transformed into the world of equality, justice and health that we are called to live in.

Horrors still happen because as religious we are choosing the side of David as holy, instead of walking alongside Bathsheba and simply being.

Your simplicity and meekness carried the scent of God and sparked in people’s hearts the desire for goodness. You spoke often of the beauty of the family gathered around the table to share bread and faith: pray for us that once again true families would live in our homes.

Without outstretched hands you sowed hope, and you taught us to listen for God’s footsteps as he prepares a new humanity: help us have a healthy optimism of defeating evil with good.

You loved the world with its light and darkness, and you believed that peace is possible: help us be instruments of peace at home and in our communities.

With paternal gentleness you gave all children a caress: you moved the world and reminded us that hands have been given to us not for striking, but for embracing and drying tears.

Pray for us so that we do not limit ourselves to cursing the darkness but that we bring the light, bringing Jesus everywhere and always praying to Mary. Amen.

Sharing this article not as a…hey look how messed up our American cousins are that they let labels get in the way of living Christ’s love of neighbour, but as a call to Canadian churches that we do the same. We sit in churches 1/3 to 1/2 full surrounded by other churches of similar holy huddles and bicker over how to afford to keep our lights on and pay utilities rather than reaching out to one anther to be able to help the communities around us. Youth crime rises because they are seeking a place of belonging and being able to be who the world thinks they are. When done right, church (as I have seen in my years doing youth outreach), can create a place of belonging for youth where they can discover who they are meant to be. But we as the generation involved need to surrender our ego, and our label and truly seek the guiding of the Spirit in what we are called to be for our neighbour in love.

A scorched prairie farm land was where the shots first rung out. The team had come in to rescue a diplomat’s child. Shotgun’s teeth clenched tightly around the stub of his cheap cigar, in each hand a sawed off 12 gauge. His short cut crew cut was starting to show a little gray around the temples, as through gritted teeth he barked.

“Slick, kid’s in the quansahut!” Jake “Shades” Slick dive rolled out of the Gator’s passenger seat that Kyler Storm was driving. As slick rolled up to a crouch and started crab running towards the hut, through his black Ray Bans, the Gloc slipped into his hand. Three quick shots and the man with the rifle behind the fencepost wrapped with barb wire is no longer an issue.

Slick’s ponytail whips around as he motions Kyler to keep driving. The young goth kid was the newest in the unit, his ear piece unit squawks from the chopper command centre. “Slick what’s the scoop?”

“One Neo-FLQ taken out, cover fire being laid down. We’ll need extraction in 10 minutes C.D.” speaking of young whipper snappers, ten years before C.D. was the first of teens to emerge as hackers into the agency system, it was Louis that brought him in. French-Canadian Asian lady, part phantom/part ninja some would say. Slick watched as Shotgun made his way behind the work shed. They had made a triangle around the quansa, and on the roof climbing was Louis Regis.

C.D. squawks that Omega Squad was coming in via F-150. The roar of the truck engine.

There are probably eight gunmen in black bala clavas whose attention moves to the incoming truck. Daemon’s crew, old scarred face (his mother lit him on fire in her death scene free basting). Reesa, a lovely raven haired woman, Malcolm the token Albino hanging out the box with the heavy artillery. One the running board is Grizz, literally a man the size of a bear and enough hair to be mistaken as one.

Kyler is bringing the Gator straight up the middle to the two doors of the Quansa. Louis slices through the roof and drops in as the Gator bursts through and he starts firing. Shotgun pops up and lays down buck shot, as Slick opens up and six gun men go down quick.

Gun fire in the back.

Reesa’s eyes lock on the diesel tank. She aims through the sniper scope and fires. The explosion blows heat and debris across the field as the cover fire from the truck takes down the last of the shooters on their way to the Quansa.

The Gator inside the Quansa flips. Kyler rolls out, and rises with his old six shot. Two gun men left, one holding the kid by the throat gun to the head.

Shotgun and Slick step through the twisted metal doors. A quick shot and the second gun men’s chest explodes. The one with the kid steps back as Louis rises up behind him out of a straw stack, her long knives slip lightly across his throat spraying blood as he crumples to the ground.

The screech of truck tires as the four and the kid walk out of the Quansa. The chopper touches down behind the truck, C.D., a 6’2” bald man that maybe weighed 150 lbs soaking wet in a completely black suit walks towards the Quansa, his eyes surveying the bodies and carnage around the farm in Manitoba where this alleged Francophone separatist terrorist group had taken the Prime Minister’s son. Through black sun glasses that wrap around his head C.D. looks at Slick.

He lightly tugs on the black gloves as he motions for Kyler to bring the child to him. C.D. and Kyler walk back to the chopper, load the kid in. C.D. turns, smiles.

Malcolm from the back of the F-150 aims and fires.

Kyler’s brains splatter the prairie soil.

Slick goes to shoot at C.D. as he steps into the chopper and it launches. “Damn terrorists infiltrated us.” Was the last thing C.D. said as the chopper flew away.

Daemon steps out of the truck with his black trench coat billowing in the breeze looking at Louis, Slick and Shotgun. “There are two ways this can go down.”

Shotgun smirked, took his cigar in two fingers, walked up to the youngster and pinged it off his forehead. “Yea, my boot goes up your ass, or my gun.”

Daemon goes to draw. Slick smiles, grouped together in a truck, young and dumb and him with one bullet left. The old F-150 given by the agencies ran on propane. He fires quick and true. The bullet ruptures the tank.

Daemon turns as Shotgun’s right hand levels him towards the explosion that sends his men careening in the field.

Slick’s eyes fall on a Dodge Caravan back by the farm house. Louis laughs as he taps his ear piece one more time. “This isn’t over C.D.”

Chapter One

The rain had soaked into the alley of Gothic City, just off their Electric Avenue party district. The rain was cleansing. It made the usual aromas and stains of the alley vanish. The Gothic Gargoyles were in the run for Lord Stanley’s Cup, just first round, but the party was loud, the women’s breasts were flashing and things were happening under the street lights the police had long since given up trying to keep a lid on.

Malcolm’s body still ached from ten years previous in a farmer’s field in Manitoba when they were supposed to be heroes. Instead the agency had written them off. He had barely found work as a bouncer at a club back home in Gothic City, AB. Which was good, because how much work would there be for a one legged spy adventurer. Yes his resume got to read that he was part of a covert operation team that rescued the Prime Minister’s son from a group of home grown terrorists, if he was allowed to even speak of it. But it had been their handler’s time to change the guard as C.D. had phrased it. If they wanted to be Alpha Squad, they would need to deal with the old guard.

It was to be their moment of glory, yet Grizz had miscounted the damn shots from Slick’s gun. They thought he had fired nine, nope had been eight, and the ninth found the propane fuel tank. So sure, he had sniped Kyler and put the protégé in a grave, but the explosion had claimed his leg, given Daemon more scars and a stay in Panoka, no one had seen Grizz’s body as he had vanished, and it had placed Reesa in a coma.

Bunch of great heroes, taken out by a crew of over the hills. That was his legacy, and now he was trying to keep pandemonium at bay. It had been the girl’s scream that had brought him from his bar’s door way next to the alley into the alley way. It had sounded through the rancorous party noise and actually sounded like someone in dire need. Yet in the dark and dank of the alley, there was nothing to be seen.

Malcolm turns on his prosthetic leg to exit when he heard what sounded like a tape measure unfurling. He feels the jerk on his stump as his prosthetic flies off. He attempts to keep his balance as a low whistle signals a throwing knife through the water finding his jugular spraying walls and ground red, making an eerie Kool-aid to run out of the alley into the streets as he grips at the knife and feels his life run out of him.

Chapter Two

Whoopee shit about the Gothic Gazette’s headline, Albino bouncer shanked during playoff party. Pond scum is what he was; if I had known he was in Gothic would have done him myself. I shift uneasily in the booth at the Nottingham Pub as I lay the paper down on my table. Pubs are places of comfort, but as a recovered alcoholic, the comfort once found on a scotch double neat needed to be replaced by something else, and today I was not in the mood for a ginger ale so I am torturing myself with pub coffee—black. It is an anthropological study when there is a new waitress who has started at the Nottingham. The one in her mid-thirties that’s been around for years dressed like 50’s glam; the two in their early to mid-twenties all tits and tats hanging out, the newbie whose probably barely twenty trying to fit in, but looking more than uncomfortable in the micro skirt and tank top. Lunch hour is the busy time, comes from the cheap Alberta steak sandwiches.

The coffee has a burnt taste that is mixed with weakness because they pulled it out before percolation ended. Thankfully they had just renovated their table and chairs. The click of old army boots on the old tile floor. The leather trench coat, with long greying red hair, with the eye patch, so my old friend looked more like a pirate than the killer he used to be. “Jake.”

He nods to me as he sits down ordering the special and a Guinness. “Will.” The way he said my name means that the type of things we used to do would be coming back. Maybe a time I wish I had not given up alcohol.

Leaning back and steepling my hands, “it has been a while since Calgary.” Jake is not aging well, but these conversations do not go well and usually end up with gun play or me running through a field with him from a mad husband of some sort with a gun. So I guess it all comes back to gun play a truly un-Canadian endeavour.

“Will we need some focus here, something has happened to…” Okay have to keep remembering that Jake is not a conversationalist. “Louis.”

Ah shit. Louis Regis, she who shalt never be named within our intrepid duo (trio up until 10 years past). Jake’s on-again-off-again-pop on by lover of sorts. Also one of the deadliest knife wielders alive, and surprisingly one of the clumsiest individuals we have ever had the privilege to work with as well, I have a scar on my left butt cheek thanks to her hatchback and a misplaced eagle handed blade.

“Jake seriously, she probably just ran out of gas in Regina again.” Whenever Louis is involved, Jake loses perspective, and then probably, okay more than likely because we are pre-school friends till now I will follow suit, and as noted earlier, gun play will ensue.

Jake slides a tattered piece of lined paper across the table to me. I know I am going to kick myself for doing this, but I pick it up and look at it. Brown stains that do resemble blood. A time and an address, judging from the address it is in the industrial park. Why could there be something go down that didn’t happen in a warehouse? “I think that’s where she’s gone.” Jake said.

Where she’s gone? A scrap of paper covered in blood? How do we know she isn’t dead at this time? The waitress tops up what is passing for coffee and I swear I choke a little when I sip it, it is now that tepid temperature from a pub when they want you to move onto something harder, but that was years ago when I would do that. “So what do you want?” I glance at the time on the paper, and at my watch, forty-five minutes until whatever is to happen there.

Jake with the crow’s feet around his eyes, the greying red hair, and his one un-patched eye gets that twinkle, and his side ways grin. “Saddle up, Will let’s ride one more time.”

Aw damn it, I know I am going to live to regret this, but when it is your best friend and there is bad pub coffee involved, what choice in life is there than the simple ones. “Let’s go.”

Drop a ten on the table and leave. The upside of life after the agency is that there are no fancy cars involved, for you simply want to blend into the background. Jake still drives a small hatchback. From the trunk of my own P.O.S. sedan I grab my gear bag and hop into his car. One would think after 30 years of misadventures together I would learn to slow things down, ask questions, double check new stories, but no, my friend asks for help and well, I am there. The down side of using his car, is his music, still had not acquired a taste for late seventies-early eighties metal, but to each their own. Not to mention he drives like a distracted Mario Andretti, and I have to remember the name of the Holy I am praying to this week to save my ass as Jake’s passenger.

Yes I wrote many novels as a older adolescent/young adult that revived pulp fiction style writing amongst my generation in the Properties in Calgary, and some of the stories have become epic and legendary (still remember having one award winning one in the CBE banned during “Freedom to Read Week” due to having a bi-sexual character); tackling how the deconstruction of a human being could create a pulp hero, the fun of Canadian espionage, and what actually one does when they finally conquer the world to name but a few. It was a time of re-inventing characters I had been creating and writing on since I was 9 years old in a little thing I dubbed the “Tyverse”… so yes it was also a super hero backdrop with mysticism, magic and some religious overtones as I used my writing as allegory to sort out my own spiritual understandings.

Over the last few years I have concentrated more on my spiritual formation writing and poetry, but that has waned a bit in my life, I had even taken active steps in 2013 to step away from my active speaking and writing schedules. Which left time for the Spirit of Creativity to move within me once more, and to reflect on what made writing fun. What was that you ask?

The adventure.

So this is the year I am hoping to craft a new office space or at least discovering a new coffee shop to write in at the very least as I craft a new fiction… here is something that popped out of the keyboard during Christmas, some long time followers may recognize the older characters:

Pubs are places of comfort, but as a recovered alcoholic, the comfort once found on a scotch double neat needed to be replaced by something else, and today I was not in the mood for a ginger ale so I am torturing myself with pub coffee—black. It is an anthropological study when there is a new waitress who has started at the Nottingham. The one in her mid-thirties that’s been around for years dressed like 50’s glam; the two in their early to mid-twenties all tits and tats hanging out, the newbie whose probably barely twenty trying to fit in, but looking more than uncomfortable in the micro skirt and tank top. Lunch hour is the busy time, comes from the cheap Alberta steak sandwiches.

The coffee has a burnt taste that is mixed with weakness because they pulled it out before percolation ended. Thankfully they had just renovated their table and chairs. The click of old army boots on the old tile floor. The leather trench coat, with long greying red hair, with the eye patch, so my old friend looked more like a pirate than the killer he used to be. “Jake.”

He nods to me as he sits down ordering the special and a Guinness. “Will.” The way he said my name means that the type of things we used to do would be coming back. Maybe a time I wish I had not given up alcohol.

Leaning back and steepling my hands, “it has been a while since Calgary.” Jake is not aging well, but these conversations do not go well and usually end up with gun play or me running through a field with him from a mad husband of some sort with a gun. So I guess it all comes back to gun play a truly un-Canadian endeavour.

“Will we need some focus here, something has happened to…” Okay have to keep remembering that Jake is not a conversationalist.

English: Pic for WikiProject Political parties and politicians in Canada (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It is election season in Calgary, we are one week away from voting on Councillor,Mayor and school board trustee. Yet with it now set for every for years, and the second Monday of October for civic elections, a thought entered my mind for electoral reform made simple.

What if each province’s civic election time line became the election time line? That is on that vote day every four years that province voted for school board trustees, councillors, mayor, MLA and MP?

Now you say, what about federal disruption in Parliament? What disruption? It actually makes one’s local MP relevant, and ensures they are more in line with their constituent wishes, and actual Canadians than what the party whip wishes… Another side effect is that the PMO would be forced to be collaborative with all parties for the betterment of Canada (that Constitutional promise of Peace, Order andGood Governance)…how you ask?

Well let’s look at Harper’s current slim majority of 8 seats, if we were voting on MP’sacross Alberta currently, and he lost 8 seats (which current polling suggests is a possibility) he either gets a slimmer majority, or moves into minority territory. It makes all 17 parties and any independents running relevant for the electorate.

Provincially it allows votes to become discerning from the civic leaders they elect, and then who they believe would best work or balance that out. Think of the pre-2000’s when provinces would elect opposite provincial governments to who was in Federally.

Then to cap the elections off period, you put in place a two term limit on anyone running, once they have served their two terms, before running at any level again they must spend one election cycle back in the private sector. It eliminates retirement plans from the table as it truly transforms public office back into a public sector.

As with any reform however it takes the will of the winners under the old dysfunctional system to make it work.

Mum had a tapestry that hung in her home, and still hangs there that she liked in the simplicity of explaining what we are to do.

“We are visitors on this planet. We are here for a short time. During that period we must try to do something good, something useful, with our lives. if you contribute to other people’s happiness, you will find the true meaning of life.”
― Dalai Lama XIV

Mum:

Rosemary Ragan was many things within her life, with many beloved names, but what she was first was a compassionate friend living out her beliefs on compassion, and contribution to the community.

She is a beloved wife, friend, Mum, Nana and Nanny to many, and these are just a few of the terms of love used to describe her.

Whether it was the neighbourhood kids she “adopted” as her own, her own kids or grandchildren friends she met and did likewise with. Lifelong friendships she formed at work, volunteering in local schools, for the CNIB, teaching Sunday school as a teenager, or in the altar guild as a young lady, as a babysitter both growing up and for neighbours, helping customers and the seniors as the candy lady at the local Co-op as the candy lady.

Mum would not us to mourn, for by simply looking into the eyes of the lives she’s touched, into their hearts and watching their own actions of compassion her dreams live on.

Readings

BAS p. 599 the words of St. John

Rosemary started dating her beloved Wayne 44 years ago. Just like Cinderella, her favourite Disney movie she shared with her granddaugheters, bipity bopity boo, their love story would stretch into 43 years of happily ever after marriage, 2 children grown to four, 2 sons, Trevor and Tyler and their wives, Carmen & Shawna, now 2 daughters; with five blessings, Nicholas, Eric, Emilee, Leland and Justina.

44 years of adventures, shenanigans, stories, joys, concerns; happiness, sadness, moments of immense pride, and hiccups of life. Times when she would give one that look whether they were cherbling their candies, or going t.v. shopping without motherly supervision to bicycle jump mishaps and triumphs of education, dale Carnegie diplomas; Trevor’s BMXworls; Nicholas’ youth of distinction awards and having children chase their dreams, and thanks to the loving home built by Wayne and Rosemary their children’s dreams grow.

A home whether in Calgary or on the farm, regardless of what life choices or circumstances one found themselves in, one knew that they would always be accepted with love. For when Mum talked of her 4 kids, and 5 blessings all that radiated was pride and joy.

The work of love that is now commissioned to all of us to continue. The work of love that began in her small Anglican church in Montgomery with her favourite story.

13 People were bringing little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them, but the disciples rebuked them. 14 When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. 15 Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” 16 And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.

Mum welcomed all into her heart and home as this story says, regardless of what was needed, she was there to help and love.

Prayers:

BAS p. 602

BAS 599 continue service.

Benediction:

My Mum was a woman of prayer, she would say how could she not be with me and Trevor as her sons, and she prayed for her family, this she would share with me. A simple blessing as we go forth, to join Rosemary, for she is having high tea with Jesus, and our loved ones who have gone before, we shall go and have high tea and continue to share.

The Lord bless you and keep you.
May He show His face to you and have mercy.
May He turn His countenance to you and give you peace.
The Lord bless you!

It is a unique question, now some people can journey through life and never discover the “one”; or never want to be with the “one”. Yet our literature ancient and modern is filled with stories of love. From failed lovers in Romeo & Juliet, to Robin Hood and Maid Marian, Lancelot & Guinevere who ended paradise. The greatest mythology shaped in the modern world is the comic book, and in the Post-Crisis (1985-2011) era of DC Comics they took the original super hero’s mythos to the next level with the Superman/Clark Kent/Lois Lane love triangle fully resolved, because simply Superman became the disguise for Clark Kent, and it was Clark that wooed Lois. In the DC New 52, they are borrowing from ancient mythology with their Superman/Wonder Woman romance (sky god/mother earth) yet there is still a root for the hero/heroine.

The clearest form though of defined love actually comes out of The Flash comics. Where the “Speed Force” if a speedster goes fast enough, will merge with them unless they have their own lightning rod to humanity. This was clearly defined in the relationship of Flash III (Wally West) and Linda Park-West, who Wally stated was his one, his lightning rod that would always bring him back home and center him. This concept was then expanded with Flash I (Jay Garrick) and his wife, Joan… and definitely redefined when after a 23 year absence due to dying to save the universe inCrisis on Infinite Earth Flash II (Barry Allen) left the speed force due to the love he held for Iris.

So why the romantic turn? Well a, I am a huge comic geek, b, I am a huge Robin Hood nerd, but mostly this past week celebrating the greatest life choice with my family. Looking into the eyes of my soul mate, and realizing that the best term is more than just best friend, or even soul mate, she is quite literally, my lightning rod, the one that keeps me sane, centered, and brings me home regardless of how crazy life can become.

It is kind of funny how sermons/homilies months apart can connect. A few months ago we heard a priest speak on theEucharist as spiritual potluck, for every believer comes to the table and brings their own Hodge podge of giftings together in the community joined together through the mystical meal. It is potluck because in no one location can we be completely sure of what gifts or more apt, children of God will be gathered together.

Today’s message was on coming to the table, and how growth of the spiritual community cannot be centered on a formula, ala all in pews need to be homogeneous, or centered on growth simply to ensure the butts in the pew will increase offerings to meet budget. It has to be deeper, and more centered onChrist, together in the blessed meal (an yea, today was our local Presbyterian minister who brought us this message).

So with this why the post?

Simply think about it. Both were on the same focus, we never know who will be brought together by the Holy Spirit to be family, to live out our faith together to transform our communities into the just world that Jesus called us to build in the Gospels. We do not know a family or individual’s socio-economic, spiritual, cultural, educational, or even personal experience/reality when they come to the table with us.

All we know for sure, is that each and everyone of us (whether we acknowledge it or not) had the divine spark of life breathed into us, and has shaped our moral compass of good works, helping, and justice. The true answering by a church of the gospel clarion is not an altar call; full pews; overflowing offering; or even having the right “thou shalt/shalt nots” espoused… the true answering of the gospel clarion call in my estimation is a community that supports, encourages one another to use our diverse gifts and experiences to transform our world for the better. To end localized oppression & poverty that will create a true trickle out effect into the world.

Simple acts of kindness, not worrying about ever getting paid back for them, simply doing them because there is a baseline of love for our neighbour because we recognize the same divine spark within them that exists within us and know, that it is just to help and support one another.

But will we answer the gospel call of compassion, or will we simply continue to muddle the waters with magic growth formulas and money mongering?

It is quite a simple concept, thanks to Cabinsales.ca in Southern Alberta and other sponsors, a log cabin playhouse has been converted to a giant piggy bank and is going through small towns to collect donations for Alberta Children’s Hospital via parades (our kids have loved riding on the cabin or the 1923 Hehn Fire Truck courtesy of Countess Country Museum), rodeos, and main streets.

This has been a summer of seeing the love and care of Albertans through our many emergencies, yet there is still care being shown via donations for the hospital at one time or another every family in Southern Alberta ends up coming through.

This coming weekend it will be in the Elnora-Delbourne-Lousanna area, but this great shot came from our time at Strathmore Heritage Days (photo courtesy of Wayne Ragan, 2013):

So when you see the cabin rolling through help out like the RCMP did 🙂

Oh…and here’s a little secret…September 28, 2013 you could win it for your kids or grandkids…just enter when…yup you got it…see the cabin or donate here.

The ship may have lost its rudder, when almost 2000 years after the Eastermoment, the church is shocked by a pope, that is dubbed the “slum pope”, and one that finds it necessary to speak out about standing firm against evil.

Even better during Rio’s WYD, a message in regards to “making a mess” in one’s diocese…that is actually moving beyond the sealed churches, schools, institutions of the formal church and getting back into one’s community.

Think about this for a moment? What is the state of the church that for many these are calls of renewal instead of simply a daily lifestyle?

Is it not the call of the faith to step out into the world outside your front door? To love one’s neighbour as themselves? To feed the hungry? To clothe the naked? Care for the sick? Visit the prisoner? Essentially to build a just and healthy world one interaction at a time?

YES! and what is so scandalous and refreshing of the “slum Pope“, that he reminds all believers of the heart and soul of the Gospel and what it means to be in the Body of Christ.

It came to pass tonight, we messaged the church office in regards to the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults (RCIA) program. Time to take the next step in the exploration process. But it is also a week for reflecting deeper.

Why you ask?

Well, Francis I, this week talked about how it hurt to see priests and nuns driving the newest cars. This tended to confuse some, but let’s think about this for an instance. This is a challenge to those called to humility (in some religious orders, poverty) and to service of the gospel (which is quite clear on its call to serving the poor, the disenfranchised of society). How can you take vows and state this is your life even vocational calling, yet spend money freely to have a luxurious life. Yes, one can look to the Vatican oppulence, but also to protestant/charismatic faith leaders of today with their own private jets, islands, million dollar pay days. The point in my heart of the car comment, was pointing out the wasting of resource within our world, that if we just distributed fairly, the gospel call of alleviating poverty would be answered.

This reflection was followed by a challenging homily by Father Malcolm at our home parish, the challenge was simple though one that believers need to hear, that if this is our call of faith, then we need to respond. VOLUNTEER is the first step, within and without our church, it should not just be a 10-15% of the same faces, but each and everyone of us should be active, and we should be raising up the young within our communities to be as responsive.

14 What good is it, my brothers and sisters,[e] if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? 15 If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, 16 and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? 17 So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.

18 But someone will say, “You have faith and I have works.” Show me your faith apart from your works, and I by my works will show you my faith.

Our faith as stated this week in Francis I’s new encyclical (co-written with Benedict XVI) from Lumen Fidei Prologue: 5

The light of faith is unique, since it is capable of illuminating every aspect of human existence. A light this powerful cannot come from ourselves but from a more primordial source: in a word, it must come from God. Faith is born of an encounter with the living God who calls us and reveals his love, a love which precedes us and upon which we can lean for security and for building our lives. Transformed by this love, we gain fresh vision, new eyes to see; we realize that it contains a great promise of fulfilment, and that a vision of the future opens up before us. Faith, received from God as a supernatural gift, becomes a light for our way, guiding our journey through time.

Our faith if the light of love of God, the divine spark is in each and everyone of us. Through our works of transformation, our faith will be alive and known.

The question for us, coming through this week, and the one that led me to a Franciscanvocation in the first place, is:

Are we willing for our lives, what we spend, what we do, to show our gospel life call?

If we are, then let’s take the leap of faith, not into the darkness, but into the light of unbelievable love of a transformed life and let it actually transform us from our competitive western ways, to the collaborative gospel of the living Cosmic Christ.

Who would have thought that just over a week ago our city’s downtown would be darkened and empty? That the Bow & Elbow River‘s would remind us on how fragile our human built civilization is? But it happened.

The cool part during all this, is watching how socio-economic, cultural, religious, pretty much any label one could place has been wiped away as we simply love on one another as we would like to be loved on during this time of emergency.

My hope and prayer coming out of this crisis is simple, that we never lose this sense of comraderie, community and neighbour once the crisis has passed. May the #YYC that rises above the flood waters be truly reborn with that small town communal spirit firmly rooted once more.

And I am sure there are many non-profits looking for donations to help out the victims.. Neighbourlink and the Drop In Centre have been great hubs for this during this time as well. As well, as we have seen in Bowness and Mission the simple act of walk on volunteerism for clean up. Give how you can, and know that any little bit does help renew the city’s spirit at this time.

“How beautiful it would be if each of you, every evening, could say: Today at school, at home, at work, guided by God, I showed a sign of love towards one of my friends, my parents, an older person! How beautiful!”
–Pope Francis

The new journey has begun. My family has stumbled into enjoying the Mass, and allowing this mystery to speak to us, many have…asked…what the Roman Catholic Church? Surely it’s not because I am oh so “conservative” theologically…no that’s not why…it’s about a Pope calling out the world on actually loving on one another and eradicating this thing we call poverty. Locally, it’s this little parish that welcomes my children as who they are, children, and priests/elders that inspire my soul mate and I with authentic talk of community, of discipleship, embracing the mystery of our faith… and to be honest…there are scrumptious potlucks. Did we see this turn in our faith journey? Nope, but beloved community finds you in the heart of God when you least expect it.

So the journey of endings, but renewed beginnings with new light and love. A new site to discover new calls, new communities, and share new insights that have been bubbling up within my soul as we have walked this path together.

This is different that “A Robin Hood`s Musings“ (tyragan.wordpress.com) or even Soul Pilgrimage (http://tyragan.blogspot.ca/) both good sites with decent writing, but for me at this point and time, I needed something with a fresh canvas to share my gift of writing, and reflection in the way of personal memoiric journey and transformation.

As during this part of our family`s walk we discern, but also within myself as I discern what it means to be a recycled Franciscan, coming back around to the vocational call, and whether or not to take the steps necessary to complete vows anew.

I hope you enjoy these readings, and join in the conversation when something pops up that piques your curiousity and interest.